The battlefield had changed shape overnight. What used to be a city was now a skeleton of fractured towers and dust-thick air. The fog smelled of oil, gunpowder, and burnt flesh. Cain stood amidst it all — coat shredded, eyes bloodshot, breath heavy. The ground beneath his boots vibrated faintly with the hum of unseen machines buried under rubble, still trying to run some long-forgotten function.

To his right, Susan crouched behind a concrete pillar, rifle steady. "Movement, eight o'clock. Two. Maybe three."

"Let them come," Cain said, voice low. "We're not running anymore."

Roselle adjusted her gauntlet, the thin streaks of dried blood across her cheek glistening under the intermittent sparks of lightning above. "You sound like you've said that too many times."

He didn't answer. His gaze stayed forward, locked on the horizon where the enemy banners were just beginning to appear through the haze — faint symbols of wings crossed by chains.

The Council's Purifiers.

"Looks like they're sending zealots again," Steve muttered from the wreck of a transport, wiring still looped across his arm. "Last time they did, they burned their own men just to draw a line."

"Then we make sure they choke on it this time," Cain said.

The first wave came without warning — a rush of armored figures, each encased in sleek black plating with radiant cores pulsing like hearts of molten gold. They moved in perfect synchronization, their boots pounding out a rhythm that felt more mechanical than human.

Roselle leapt into the air, her blade catching the light of the broken skyline as she slashed downward. Sparks and blood scattered in the same instant. Susan fired in bursts, bullets cracking open visors and shattering the silence that had built since dawn.

Cain drew Eidwyrm — the sword humming faintly, still alive despite the loss of mana. It responded to him on instinct now, feeding on his will rather than the arcane. Each swing carved through steel and bone alike.

A soldier lunged with a plasma pike. Cain sidestepped, caught the shaft, and drove his knee into the man's faceplate. It caved inward. Another tried to strike from behind — Cain turned, severed his arm, and buried Eidwyrm into his chest. The impact sent a pulse through the blade, rippling through the bodies nearby.

"Behind you!" Steve shouted.

Cain twisted, just in time to catch a blast that would've taken his head off. The explosion flung him backward into a wall of shattered glass. He groaned, dragged himself up, and spat blood.

Roselle crashed down beside him, panting. "They're coordinating around you."

"Good," he said, tightening his grip. "Means they're scared."

From the far side of the field, a massive shadow stepped through the smoke. It wasn't human. At least, not anymore. The frame was bulky — like a walking fortress — covered in fused metal and scorched insignia. Its voice, when it spoke, came through a modulated growl.

"CAIN, THE TRAITOR. BY THE WILL OF THE COUNCIL, YOU WILL BE UNMADE."

Cain tilted his head, flexing his neck until it cracked. "Funny. That's what the last one said."

The war machine charged, its footsteps shaking the ground. Cain rolled aside, just as its hammer came down — the impact shattered the earth, sending molten fragments flying. He struck back, his sword meeting the hammer mid-swing, sparks cascading like stars.

The shockwave hurled both fighters apart. The air burned from the heat.

Susan provided covering fire, but the bullets simply pinged off the creature's armor. "That thing's thick enough to stop anti-materiel rounds!"

Steve cursed. "You want me to rewire the damn sky while I'm at it?!"

"Do it," Cain said, his voice hard.

Steve blinked. "Wait—you serious?"

Cain rushed forward before answering.

The machine swung again; Cain ducked under, slammed the flat of Eidwyrm into its knee joint, and twisted. Metal groaned. He vaulted upward, dragging the blade along the creature's torso as sparks erupted in showers.

It retaliated instantly, grabbing him midair and hurling him across the street. Cain crashed into a transport shell, denting it inward. His ribs cracked — pain shot through him in waves, but he forced his body to stand anyway.

"You just don't quit, do you?" Roselle muttered.

He smirked faintly. "If I quit, it wins."

The war machine's eyes flared. Two cannons emerged from its shoulders, whirring into position.

Steve's voice came through the comm, strained. "Hey, uh — I might be able to blind it for a second, but it's gonna fry my entire rig."

"Do it."

"Fine! But when this blows up, I'm haunting your ass!"

The moment Steve overloaded the nearby circuits, the entire block lit up like a miniature sun. Electricity arced from the ruins, turning the air white. The war machine froze mid-step, sensors glitching. Cain lunged through the flash, blade dragging along the ground until it blazed red-hot.

He drove it into the machine's core. Metal screamed, light ruptured outward, and the entire street exploded into flame and debris.

When the smoke cleared, Cain was kneeling, chest heaving, Eidwyrm buried halfway into the molten wreck. His eyes met Roselle's across the firestorm. Neither spoke. The silence said everything — this was far from over.

Above them, more banners appeared. The next wave was already descending.

Cain pulled the sword free and straightened. "We keep moving. The war isn't waiting for us."

Roselle wiped the blood from her cheek. "Neither is death."

"Then we'll make it chase."

They advanced again, into the smoke and ruin, toward whatever came next — the night swallowing their silhouettes as the sky burned crimson above the city's corpse.

Cain steadied his breathing, the echo of the blast still rippling through the ruined street. The smoke clung to his skin like tar, heavy and acrid, filling his lungs with the taste of iron and burnt ozone. Through the haze, he could see silhouettes shifting—some crawling, others limping, a few still fighting despite being broken. He pushed forward, blade dragging sparks across the stone. Every step crunched glass, bone, and brass underfoot. Overhead, the hum of drones trembled, searching for targets. Cain's eyes narrowed. There would be no retreat. Not now. Not until the last of the Daelmont strongholds fell.